


Slow Fell The Rain

by brutumfulmen



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Domestic Bliss, Established Relationship, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Tenderness, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:28:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25946617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brutumfulmen/pseuds/brutumfulmen
Summary: Aziraphale joined Crowley in their garden with the simple intent to wait out the rain and, like always, Crowley has other ideas.Not that he's complaining. Much.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 31
Kudos: 154





	Slow Fell The Rain

**Author's Note:**

> Here's to summer rain.

According to the old radio’s crackle from the sitting room, rain was expected later this evening.

While commendable an attempt to predict the weather, anyone with some semblance of observational skills might take a look out the window and determine the rain must have taken up etiquette and decided to arrive much earlier. Perhaps wherever meteorologists broadcast from it remained far sunnier a place than England was capable of during the late summer season, Aziraphale reasoned as he dried his hands on a fine linen towel and folded it neatly underneath his washed teacup and saucer beside the kitchen sink. Regardless of accuracy or lack thereof, any plans Aziraphale might have entertained for the day would not be possible since rain made him want to be driven into town instead of escorted and the one that drove him was seemingly nowhere to be found.

Additionally, the countertop and stove held a controlled chaos of pots and ingredients and cooking utensils that explained without words Crowley possessed different ideas for how today might go. Therefore, as a conclusion the accompanying absence meant Aziraphale would be pressed to find him in just one other location.

“And he won’t be happy getting rained upon in the middle of his gardening like last time,” Aziraphale murmured to himself in the quiet warmth of their cosy kitchen, a touch to remind himself he was allowed to notice such things about whom was once not his to know, another to reaffirm if he spoke aloud there was no one else in his life to hear that did not matter. Crowley has claimed for months the move out of London did Aziraphale well, but he personally believed it was the life they’ve built afterwards that made the bigger difference.

“Best get him inside before the weather turns,” Aziraphale continued, shaking the most recent iteration of that conversation from his thoughts, having been whispered to him last night from his place within the strong coil of Crowley’s arms, and smoothed down the front of his waistcoat.

A step towards the kitchen’s backdoor where on the way he collected his overcoat from a chair at the table and tugged it over his shoulders. Two fingers pushed aside the translucent curtain at the backdoor’s small window to reveal lush greenery in vibrant contrast to the silver-grey sky. A careful turn of the handle opened to a rush of crisp, cool air and Aziraphale walked outside where the soft grass underfoot quieted his steps. Around him the fertile garden, thriving and disorganised in the only way nature knew how to live, seemed to sigh with the gentle breeze that carried warnings of rain. Countless blooms of colourful flowers had closed in preparation for the coming downpour while the elaborate vegetable garden nestled against the far right side of their property remained undisturbed, heavy with a bounty Crowley’s not yet picked for their table.

To his surprise Crowley did not call from the flower beds, tall body hunched over and elbow deep in the garden’s rich soil. Nor did he step out from between the tall plants and fruit saplings with a shovel slung over his shoulder and bags of Aziraphale never knew what weighed atop the other. Aziraphale took another step towards the thicket of plants, all of which leaned towards him as he sidled amongst them so as to not disturb their peaceful state. Cold startled him suddenly, and he blinked at the first rain droplet atop his forehead, blinked again at the second.

“Crowley?” He called, mindful of the way the lush plants reacted to hearing their master’s name until he settled his hands across their trembling leaves. Rustling of a garden alive greeted his quiet breathing, then.

“Over here, angel.”

Relief eased away Aziraphale’s building nerves and he angled towards Crowley’s low voice, weaving his steps in and out of the curious arc of dense greenery Crowley continued to cultivate, or wage war against depending on the day. Ahead he saw the clearing where a small reading area had been built not long ago for him whenever he wished to join Crowley outside, although he’d found the accompanying hissing and yelling to not be highly beneficial for reading in any capacity. Sighing, Aziraphale reached for the trembling stalks of several tall ferns and gently pushed them aside to be greeted by—

Aziraphale blinked.

This was not quite how everything had looked yesterday.

Scattered greens and other colours of tall grasses and flowers, his comfortable chair and little table still under several full-branched trees, but stretched between two particularly large tree trunks was Crowley on what appeared to be a hammock, swaying ever so slightly with the wind. Aziraphale rubbed at the light humidity gathered along the side of his face with a handkerchief he then pocketed, unsure of what to make of the strange addition to their spot.

If Crowley sprawled any further out within the hammock his pale skin would have been black coiling scales instead, so elegantly draped his tall frame was in the hammock’s curved hold. A bare arm rest above closed eyes as the other dangled, calloused fingertips grazing along the tall blades of uncut grass and stray flowers which never quite found their demise during the demon’s routine razing of the garden. The long curl of his serpentine tongue peeked out from between his lips when Aziraphale fully cleared the garden’s path in a silent greeting, and he stretched a well-defined leg down to steady the hammock’s movement with a red-black scaled foot planted into the cool grass.

“Well,” Aziraphale announced as he stepped closer, although he’d known Crowley sensed him from the moment the backdoor creaked open. A hum of curiosity resonated from Crowley, eyes kept shut though every muscle had relaxed down from its usual always-ready serpentine tension. “Now I know what arduous tasks had you up so early today.”

Crowley’s mouth curved up the slightest amount.

“Damn needy things, plants. Thought it’d be better to water them in the morning.” He cracked open a single gold-bright eye, obviously pleased by what he saw to which Aziraphale returned a smile as he stood beside Crowley’s recline. A hand, roughened from labours both present and distant past curved around Aziraphale’s clothed thigh in the simple desire to touch, which Aziraphale did not need an excuse to lean into, to find comfort in.

“Y’know it’s hard work taking care of all this nonsense.”

“We must have very different definitions of work, then. Besides, the rain is on its way, it would have done your so-called hard work for you,” Aziraphale replied, aware that Crowley might call the garden and their home nonsense, but he’d put so much of himself into it. At times he found Crowley with one hand pressed to an area of the house freshly fixed, or heard the low hum of a song beyond the rim of Aziraphale’s memory as he fixed the piping under the downstairs sink. The longer they’ve lived away from the eye of their former offices the less either of them performed miracles but Crowley, unable to sit still longer than a moment, seemed the one far more capable of living without them and proved it soundly in all he’s built. The bookcases for the personal library Aziraphale had always wanted, their sturdy bed frame Aziraphale learned how to fall asleep in.

Countless little bits and tweaks that spoke of a silent, earnest effort Aziraphale’s throat occasionally went tight over whenever come across. The demon had brought so little with him to their new living arrangement, a part of Aziraphale hoped that in these ways he’d made it his home as well.

Movement from Crowley called his attention in the form of that tongue flicking back out to taste the air and, as appropriately as one might phrase it, Aziraphale. “How would you know what hard work is since I did almost all of your assignments? Mine too if I recall, and boy do I. Busy busy.”

Aziraphale huffed, unable to deny it even as he shook his head in disapproval. “Really now, you old serpent.”

“Old, huh? Respect your elder then, angel,” Crowley countered easily, no doubt enjoying his rile up of Aziraphale who could not help but fall for it every single time.

“Despite your continued exaggerations, my dear, I do not believe I am all that much younger than you,” Aziraphale replied, a tug of his waistcoat back into place as if to emphasise his point. Instead of laughing, however, a peculiar expression passed over the relaxed lines of Crowley’s handsome face. Wistful, a touch forlorn albeit fond in a way no one else has ever looked at Aziraphale. Still, Crowley said nothing more on the matter as his strange mood faded and he stretched out to take Aziraphale’s soft hand in his, the long fingers cool and steady.

“Come.”

“Oh, well.” Aziraphale bit his lip as he surveyed the delicate stretched fabric and roping slung between two trees. While the trunks appeared sturdy with braided rope upon braided rope looped expertly to suspend the large hammock, Crowley inhabited most of it, already curved deep with his dense weight—

A tug, gentle as Crowley’s broad thumb soothed the nerves worrying under Aziraphale’s skin. “Stop your thinking, angel. Lay with me in our garden.”

When he said it like that Aziraphale was helpless to resist, and how could he? The garden they’ve created together, how blessed a concept for two beings who never quite belonged here, there, or anywhere except with one another. In a terribly romantic mood now after the effect of a simple ‘our’ from Crowley who no doubt was fully aware of what he’s done, Aziraphale sighed and gave his assent. Denial would be immediate if pressed but under Crowley’s blatant stare he went deliberately slow in removing his overcoat to drape it over the nearby side table. Aziraphale toed off his shoes, the slight damp of the grass not enough to be felt through his thin trouser socks.

Rain had yet to drip-drop beyond the garden canopy but the shock of cool air prickled the back of his neck. Soon, it said. Aziraphale ignored Crowley’s smug grin to lean down and grasp the flexible side of the hammock.

“If this breaks I shall be very cross with you,” he warned as Crowley shifted and let Aziraphale fall into the cradle of his arm and chest. The hammock swung from Aziraphale’s ungraceful tumble but Crowley twisted, pushing hard against the grass to fight inertia and soon enough everything settled along with the thundering of Aziraphale’s nervous heart. Upon the hammock’s return to equilibrium he blinked up at the entwined tree boughs to reorient himself, idly wondering if he ever laid down outside before and through the catalogue of his memories he could not remember. It would be fitting to have yet another first experience with Crowley, even if it was a strange one.

“As if I’d ever make something shoddy,” Crowley grunted in discomfort when Aziraphale leaned his full weight onto the demon’s chest and adjusted further until they were flush, Aziraphale on his side tucked in against Crowley, a soft hand resting upon the flat of his stomach. “Built a thing or two before.”

Or twenty or a hundred depending on how much of a mood Crowley was in after Aziraphale questioned his definitely questionable methods. Based on the gentle slide of his fingertips up and down Aziraphale’s back he did not seem to be anything more than contented by the company. Even if he were in a mood Aziraphale never minded hearing about his creations, whatever they were before or were now. Nurturing and sustaining might come to Aziraphale as naturally as a halo, but creation and invention were Crowley’s domain. It did not take too much effort to notice.

The body curved around his tensed up in a long, satisfying stretch from crown to feet, then relaxed with the dull point of Crowley’s chin touched atop Aziraphale’s humidity-attacked curls. Despite the strange roping and the whole laying down outside aspect the hammock was surprisingly comfortable, somewhat like a bed on water. Aziraphale settled further into Crowley’s embrace, his socked toes pressed along the taut muscle of Crowley’s calves, hiding his smile into Crowley’s side when the demon hissed in approval, gave a slow caress down his back.

They lay there together for quite some time as the sky darkened further, full and promising when the raindrops multiplied steadily between their breaths. Soon the sparse drizzle picked up and a steady fall of rain sounded out around them. Occasionally a droplet slipped past the trees and they took turns wiping them away. When one landed on a part of Crowley’s exposed chest Aziraphale kissed it away and Crowley rumbled in surprise, his lips moving against Aziraphale’s forehead, fingers plucking at Aziraphale’s shirt collar until he feigned protest, rather flustered by the attention. Time and rain carried on without a care as they talked about everything other than work, something they’ve not had to worry about in almost a year now. Instead Aziraphale told Crowley about a funny book he’s reading to which Crowley demanded a retelling Aziraphale badly improvised his way through.

After his laughter faded Crowley spoke about plans for dinner and the tragedy of getting up early to beat the rain but that it had already turned grey. _So I’ve not watered them today ‘cause they can’t get spoiled,_ Crowley had said from his perch upon Aziraphale’s head, to which Aziraphale replied his uncertainty in how a group of insentient plants might become spoiled.

“Trust me, angel,” he replied as the hand on Aziraphale’s wide waist shifted, fingertips catching on the waistcoat’s fine fabric until they reached the top band of his trousers, deceptively idle. “They know what they’ve done.”

Aziraphale had no idea what Crowley meant of course and instead watched his fingers play with the fine auburn hairs of Crowley’s firm chest to walk the dark line of his shirt down his flat stomach. The arm looped around Aziraphale pulled him closer and the hand on his waist slid a hair lower to rest against the brass button closure, over the crease of his trouser’s placket. Aziraphale’s breath caught in realisation at the intention in Crowley’s touch, his hands falling still as he waited for Crowley’s next move.

There was the briefest pause, almost a hesitation. When Aziraphale swallowed thickly but said nothing, Crowley’s hand slipped lower, then inwards. Aziraphale bit his lip, a drop of warmth in his lower belly bloomed as he struggled to not roll into the touch.

Heavens.

“So that’s why you wanted me to join you,” Aziraphale’s voice wavered at the sudden flutter of his heartbeat when Crowley’s fingertips smoothed up to press atop his trousers once more, then back between slightly parted thighs in a deliberately aimless pet. Not that Aziraphale would have admitted to adjusting his position so certain areas were more conveniently accessed, but Crowley’s hand slid down between his thighs, and stayed.

“I did say lay with me, angel,” Crowley hissed into the shell of Aziraphale’s ear, sending shivers down his back where blunt nails trailed lines over the fabric. Impatient and emboldened, Aziraphale pressed down a bit more firmly into Crowley’s touch only for it to retreat back to his inner thigh, drawing circles of light mockery upon clothed skin.

Wily creature.

“To think I had foolishly assumed you wanted my company,” Aziraphale breathed into the kiss Crowley settled on his mouth, forked tongue running along the seam until Aziraphale’s lips parted. The fingers between his thighs angled upwards to cup along him, then pushed.

“Oh!” Aziraphale rushed out, hammock swaying with the kick of his legs as he sought purchase somewhere, anywhere if it meant closer to Crowley’s touch. A sharp cut of laughter came from Crowley as he kneaded Aziraphale through his trousers, shudder upon shudder running through him each time those fingers pressed against him. Aziraphale’s legs spread despite the hammock’s limited space and Crowley rewarded him by occasionally touching a finger to where he knew Aziraphale was flushed and wet, where if rubbed long enough the fabric would dampen from the uncontrollable evidence of his desire.

“Always want your company,” Crowley’s hand slid up to unbutton the front of Aziraphale’s trousers and by now he was biting deep into his lower lip to keep from crying out in frustration. The dark red of Crowley’s tongue flicked out and judging by the narrowing of his pupils he could taste arousal, musky and tanged clean, wafting from Aziraphale.

“Always want you.”

He lifted Aziraphale’s waistband away from his skin long enough to touch underneath, a brief pause at the imprints left behind. Crowley hummed into the kiss as he soothed them in sympathy before those fingers crawled along the damp skin of his lower belly, past the vee of curls between Aziraphale’s thighs to ghost over where he remained closed and aching. Two fingers slid down and by now Aziraphale was openly panting into the humid, rain-filled air, so painfully close to getting what he wanted. Crowley parted his delicate folds, held him in suspension until he shivered out in helpless need and dipped in where slick, sticky fluid had dripped out from his blood-hot centre. Aziraphale’s head fell back in relief but Crowley did not move further even though the thick line of his erection pressed hard against Aziraphale’s hip, throbbed each time Aziraphale gasped or sighed. Slippery fingers retreated up towards the perk of Aziraphale’s clit to deliver a gentle tap, then another as if gauging Aziraphale’s sensitivity.

Judging by the yank on his rumpled shirt and moan of frustrated bliss Aziraphale replied with which trailed into a semblance of Crowley’s name, it was just right. A kiss smeared over Aziraphale’s red-bitten lips and Crowley’s fingertip lavished his clit. Each slow, perfect circle wrought by Crowley sent his cunt clenched hot with pleasure around nothing but empty need.

“Ah, ah.” Aziraphale squirmed, pressed his face against the side of the hammock and bore his neck to Crowley who immediately exploited it to lick a wet stripe from collarbone to ear. “Faster please, could you?”

Some oddly strained noise, almost a laugh, not quite a groan puffed hot across Aziraphale’s neck in response to his demand. Crowley’s knee nudged between Aziraphale’s legs to spread him wider as he continued his leisurely attentions over Aziraphale’s eager clit. Just as the coil in his belly wound tighter, sent molten heat spiralling down his legs and curled his toes into the fibres of the hammock, Crowley’s fingers slid away from his clenching sex.

“Oh, you absolute fiend,” Aziraphale grumbled, his hips twisting to chase Crowley’s hand which alternated between a shallow dip into the gushing mess Aziraphale’s now certain had stained through his trousers and feather light, precise teases over his clit where each one sent him another rung down the evolutionary ladder into mindless, aching anticipation.

“That’s me, a fiend,” he sounded just as overcome as Aziraphale however, a sheen of sweat gleaming across his forehead and along the jut of his collarbones. Around them the pouring rain cast mist into the air, dripped down upon them as Crowley ground his clothed erection harder against Aziraphale and his fingers moved down through his flushed, swollen labia. 

Two fingers dipped in once more and Aziraphale arched into the touch as thunder roared overhead, knowing what would happen next but his body desperately trying to cling tight. Based on the grunt Crowley made and the grind of his erection against Aziraphale’s soft side it was not only him who was affected by it all. He relinquished one hand’s grip on Crowley’s shirt to slide underneath where hard muscle and sparse, soft hairs greeted his searching hand, rewarded by a breathless kiss stolen from his mouth. A twist, then his fingers caught upon the yielding open of Aziraphale’s body and pushed inside until Aziraphale cried out, working himself down onto Crowley’s knuckles as pure sensation overwhelmed him.

“Goodness,” Aziraphale groaned at the withdrawal of Crowley’s fingers from his body once again, attempting to catch a breath Crowley was committed to withholding. “What about this weather inspired you to be so… so amorous?”

“Mmm,” Crowley nipped at Aziraphale’s neck as large hands tugged his plain brown trousers and sensibly designed undergarments past Aziraphale’s hips and leaned back to pull them past his knees, over his ankles after Crowley snuck a kiss to each one. “Took care of me in that first rain, when we’d not a clue what it was,” Crowley said and tossed Aziraphale’s trousers to the side where they landed partially on the table with his overcoat. Aziraphale made for Crowley’s half-open shirt but quicker fingers were already at work on his own, sliding the little brass buttons through each one of their buttonholes with a growl, opening it to reveal the sweat-dampened white of his shirtsleeves which he immediately cast aside as well.

“Wanted to do the same.”

Aziraphale swallowed at the tone of Crowley’s voice, far more reverent than he believed warranted. His brief courtesy was nothing compared to the millennia of Crowley’s protection and care, his friendship and now his love. “There’s nothing to make up for about that, my dear.”

“Not making up for anything,” Crowley rasped, fangs pinprick dragged along Aziraphale’s skin, the ghosting promise of a bite made Aziraphale arch his neck, begging for more. “Saying you’re what inspired me angel. Done so ever since.”

Goodness, he would not make a fool of himself and start crying right now, and to conceal the conflicting emotions he buried his face into Crowley’s chest and pulled him close, right where he wanted him. Crowley murmured Aziraphale’s name as his hands smoothed over every bit of exposed flesh, worshipped Aziraphale without words as Aziraphale took deep breaths full of nothing but Crowley. That precious, precarious combination of demonic essence and the human form he’s lived and loved Aziraphale within far longer than he’s deserved.

“Love me,” Aziraphale murmured and Crowley sighed out years in response.

“Always.”

It was a shuffle of bodies and limbs Crowley handled remarkably well, gathering Aziraphale up until he fell into the centre of the swaying hammock. A harsh noise tore from Crowley’s throat as Aziraphale let his knees fall further apart to reveal the glisten of his centre and Crowley hissed something dark and predatory at the sight. Without any semblance of grace he tugged off his shirt to reveal the broad lines of his flat chest and dark nipples for Aziraphale’s reaching hands to lavish. He fumbled with unzipping his trousers where the obscene line of his desperate erection made Aziraphale’s mouth dry, his thighs soft against Crowley’s narrow hips, unable to close them if he even wanted to. Around them the wind howled and rustled through the trees but Crowley, ever so considerate, kept them unaffected as he leaned half on and off the hammock to ensure it never moved, kept them both right here.

Aziraphale’s mouth and mind were suddenly far too distracted by the kiss Crowley dove down to capture him with and the feel of Crowley’s hand tugging down his own undergarments. He heard Crowley hiss and curse until the line of his cock bobbed free onto Aziraphale’s belly, dripped messily down through damp curls to where he would soon be thrusting himself into.

“Oh,” Aziraphale trembled at the mere thought. His body caught alight as Crowley gripped the base of his cock, nudged its wet tip through Aziraphale’s labia. A hiss filled Aziraphale’s ears, that strange tongue flicked out to catch what must be the full blown scent of Aziraphale’s arousal if how Crowley’s human-guised eyes stole further into serpentine gold. “I need you now,” Aziraphale’s plush thighs folded further when Crowley’s hands slid down them to part Aziraphale’s labia with his thumbs, one rubbing along the wet mess where he’d been invited to sink deep. A hiss of approval met whatever he saw but Aziraphale had officially lost all patience.

“Crowley,” he squirmed in Crowley’s strong grip, watched those gold eyes glow down at him. “Right now, please.”

“Anything you want,” Crowley panted and rocked closer, lining up to press his cock against Aziraphale and with a breath he pushed forward. There was no shame when Aziraphale moaned far louder than any angel should, not with the thicket of lush greenery and downpour of rain around them, Crowley’s body over his.

The stretch of Crowley sliding inside made them both sigh in bliss, a heave of breath from Crowley as his large hands wandered everywhere across Aziraphale’s damp, rolling skin, clearly struggling to maintain control against Aziraphale’s impatient pleas. Aziraphale groaned when Crowley’s cock throbbed heavily, legs restless around Crowley’s sharp hips, heels caught on defined thighs. His own much softer hands scrabbled at Crowley’s scaled back, he pulsed and clenched desperately around Crowley’s dripping cock working its way deeper inside. There was nothing for him to do but lay here and take it as Crowley continued his painfully slow entrance, cock ironhard and unyielding and everything Aziraphale needed from him.

“Angel,” Crowley grunted, at last his hips pressed impossibly close as they only made the tiniest of thrusts to keep them joined. The defined flat planes of his lower abdomen rubbed against Aziraphale’s clit in messy, wet pushes sending the coil of pleasure winding tight inside Aziraphale once more. It was not going to be long at all, Aziraphale realised as he helplessly shuddered in Crowley’s embrace each time he sank inside Aziraphale. 

“Like that, just like that,” Aziraphale let his legs fall farther open, content in his trust that Crowley would take care of it all from here. The tug of the fine ropes against his soft skin was delicious in its burn as Crowley rutted him into the creaking hammock swing. Down fell the rain in great sheets, loud and pattering against the grass and falling through the trees but Aziraphale felt none of this underneath Crowley’s covering, solid form. Aziraphale arched his back and Crowley ground hard against him in short jerks of his hips, the pace exactly what he wanted. Sharp teeth and forked tongue laved their worship along his neck and his eyes fluttered shut, demanded more.

“Fucking Hell, angel, you’re beautiful,” filled his ears and Aziraphale could not take in enough air to even consider rebuking him for such language he was so close, the stretch of his cunt around Crowley’s cock with each precise press to the needy jut of his clit. He was about to come, panting in time with the bolts of pleasure Crowley pushed into him and by the heave of Crowley’s chest he too knew Aziraphale was almost there, it was impossible to resist now. “Fuck, swear I could watch you forever,” Crowley rasped, moving into the rock of Aziraphale’s searching hips, his vision blurring at the edges as his world narrowed to the pistoning of Crowley’s cock inside him.

“Crowley, just like that Crowley I’m, I’m oh—!” From under the pouring rain Aziraphale cried out into the air what was Crowley’s name in a thousand other languages, legs folded in close as he shuddered and moaned his way through waves of bliss, clenching tight as he pulsed again and again until he barely could handle it all.

Crowley hissed a long drag of syllables and scales rippled up his chest and neck, across one side of his face as he loved Aziraphale through his climax, not stopping the diligent, achingly deep press into Aziraphale’s body. Gasping for air as he continued to shudder, now distantly aware of the demon’s rasped reply to Aziraphale’s call of his name towards the canopy of trees Crowley’s grown for them as shelter, a garden just for them that no one could ever be exiled from. Above him Crowley continued to move, a covering weight Aziraphale only vaguely knew his hands and legs clung to from under the delicious shivers of pleasure carried on by Crowley’s own need. Under his fingertips the smooth, almost delicate scales that belonged to Crowley in his most natural state were only his to know and adore.

Crowley’s brow furrowed, lips fell partially open as he panted on each grinding thrust into the tight warmth of his sex. He was so painfully handsome like this, flushed with exertion, sheened by sweat and rain, the auburn fin of his hair scattered into disarray from Aziraphale’s grasping hands. His slit pupils dilated then narrowed into gossamer threads of black as they fixated on Aziraphale, unwilling to look away and Aziraphale saw his own adoration reflected back in goldburst eyes. No matter how many times they make love he’ll never tire of any of this.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley choked out at the abrupt stutter in his thrusts, a breath rattled from his chest as he nudged up along Aziraphale’s oversensitive clit, pushing in deep as he could. “Aziraphale I’m close.”

“Yes, yes dear,” Aziraphale urged on, sucking in a gasp of air as Crowley held him down and picked up the pace, warmed him even while rain chilled all else around and scattered droplets into his hair, down the exposed flesh of his limbs. The gradual pull into overstimulation that sent his toes curling, his head falling against the hammock, the firm scales flexed under the bite of his blunt nails the harder Crowley moved. It was all so unbearably physical, an experience unlike any other earthly pleasure throughout the ages. “Come inside me, please. I want you to.”

Above him Crowley shuddered and he gave a hoarse cry which might have been Aziraphale’s name in some long forgotten language. The strong muscles in his legs tensed underneath Aziraphale’s spread knees, his arms wrapped tight, gripped Aziraphale impossibly close and still not close enough as his thrusts became little more than erratic pushes into Aziraphale’s cunt. Once, twice more Crowley thrust hard and with a low, broken groan he was coming, the heavy throb of his cock followed by a series of wet pulses. It was unavoidable in the face of Crowley’s ecstasy how his second climax blurred the edges of his own senses, breath caught by a silent moan, legs trembling with the aftershocks of rippling, achingly deep pleasure. Crowley dipped to press cheek against cheek as his hips continued to jerk through their orgasms, the mix of slick and Crowley’s come smeared between them, though neither cared enough to move yet, to separate.

Aziraphale’s chest heaved a breath out into the mist-filled air, turning his head enough for Crowley’s lips to gently press to his own, lazy and indulgent as they moved together in satisfied bliss. Kiss after kiss spoke for them each I love you that had never been said, that they had so much to catch up on.

The strong line of Crowley’s back relaxed under his hands, and when he moved away Aziraphale could not help the wounded breath he gave at the slip of Crowley’s softening cock from his body, a wet trail of come smeared along the inside of his thighs. Crowley mouthed apologetic kisses to Aziraphale’s lips, his calloused fingers gentle in their caress down the sweat soaked lines of where he held on to adjust them once more into laying together, his long body curved around Aziraphale’s. Aziraphale hummed in thanks at the resting place his cheek found atop Crowley’s still hammering heartbeat, a little bit proud of the effect even if he buried his smile into damp skin.

“To think I had plans for today,” Aziraphale said instead, impossibly fond at the rumble of surprised amusement he received in response. “Should have known you had other intentions when I saw the crockery left out and nothing prepared.”

“Didn’t hear you complaining, and we’ll get you fed soon enough angel. Plan to do this again after we wake up, though.” Crowley almost growled the words, hands flexing on Aziraphale’s soft waist as though it aroused him to even think about. Aziraphale squirmed, blushing at the notion and the messy evidence of their lovemaking as Crowley’s spilled come dripped out of him.

“I don’t believe this is what hammocks were made for though, my dear,” Aziraphale murmured with no true protest, far too relaxed and looking forward to it all to truly care. Rain continued its slow fall around them as they lay together in the gently swaying hammock. A deep breath tickled his hair, and Aziraphale closed his tired eyes to the sound of Crowley’s low voice.

“Who cares what anything’s been made for,” Crowley replied, kissing the white-blond curls atop Aziraphale’s head as he pulled him in close. “So long as we enjoy it together.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.


End file.
